


A Coincidental Catch

by queen_of_OTPs



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: But only a little, Fisherman!John, It's a little sad in the beginning, M/M, Merlock, Other, merman!Sherlock, slow build -ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-01-17 09:46:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1382923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queen_of_OTPs/pseuds/queen_of_OTPs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are Mermaids, Fishermen, nets, and something resembling a remotely fluffy plot in here somewhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Violet fins and cursing humans

**Author's Note:**

> That you to my beta! You know who you are, darling.

Sherlock had always been a rather strange merman. His bizarre coloring of a deep oily onyx tail paired with deep violet fins was pretty much the opposite of his pod's normal coloring. A majority of the tail coloring in his pod was a lighter color with darker accents, like a lemon yellow with a navy blue, or patterns similar to that. on top of his innate fascination with humans was something that posed a danger to his pod, and their habitat. One too many times has a human come too close to their section of the reef with a fancy device Sherlock had learned were called cameras. He didn't tell anyone about the things he learned from humans, including their language that they called ‘English’. It had taken him a little over three years to have decent communication skills, and he picked it up much easier than one would expect it would take a young merman to learn English, especially at a young eleven years old.

When he finally aged enough to hunt and live on his own, his fascination grew to an obsession. The pod members all noticed, of course, and so a meeting was held. The executive decision was made to kick him from the pod in one last hope to ensure their survival. They gave the strange merman a choice: Be killed, or leave the pod.

\---

That was five years ago. Sherlock always told himself that he left because he didn't want to be part of a pod, but the little voice in the back of his head always screamed that he needed his family to share protection and he would need a pod to find a mate. The merman had always scoffed at the idea of a mate when he was part of a pod, but now that he was forced to live alone, he craved the company of another of his kind. 

In a rash move, he had gone on migration with a few of the other lone mermaids from the open ocean and a few of the mermaids from the waters around Crete joined them as well, heading further north. He ended up making himself at home somewhere off the east coast of the big island he had no idea was called Great Britain. It was a long way from his old home in the Mediterranean sea, closer to Turkey than anywhere else, a journey where he was accompanied by other mermen and mermaids for a majority of the time. He was new to the waters, and to his surprise, he didn't see anyone for quite some time. When he found a small section that seemed to be a common movement channel for fish, he decided to settle there. 

It was peaceful for the longest time, just a simple life. Swimming near the little coves and inlets to listen to humans and brush up on the language, to observe their culture and everything he could. He was held in rapt fascination by one fisherman in particular, because he seemed to actually care about the life in the water. He would always throw out the thinner nets, so that the bigger fish could tear the lines and get away, and the smaller ones could swim through. Of course the curious creature wanted to know more about this mystery fisherman, and he got more than he bargained for on a rather unusually sunny day. 

To enjoy the rare warmer water, he went on a celebratory hunt. The biggest fish he had seen in quite a while swam right by his little make-shift den, and he launched himself after it, his deep violet fins pressed to his sleek tail to provide less of a drag in the water, an almost cocky smirk gracing his thin lips as he raced after the panicked creature. Sherlock, of course, wasn't paying attention to where he was going; he was far too focused on the fish that he was after. Which was the perfect explanation as to why he swam directly into a net that was far thicker than his fisherman’s usual net. 

He realized it wasn't the kind and gentle fisherman’s normal net the second he realized that he couldn't struggle free of the highly durable mesh, but when he did start to struggle and wriggle in attempts to get free, he could feel a searing pain in at least two of his fins that told him that the thick and harsh mesh was slicing into the thin membrane of his fins. Shit. That wasn't good. At all. That pain meant tearing in his fins, and tearing in his fins meant that he wouldn't be able to swim as well as he already did. He wasn't even the best degree of swimmer thanks to an encounter with an overeager shark that had managed to take a small nip out of the center of his fluke, which had impaired his ability to propel himself through the water as quickly as most. Sherlock decided that, after a good thirty minutes trying to untangle himself, he should really just sit still and accept his fate. Using those gorgeous webbed hands, he would push himself to the surface every once and a while to get a breath of air. 

The second a sharp and shrill mechanical whirring started up and the sky was a gorgeous burnt orange, the entrapped merman knew that the net was beginning to be drawn into the little fishing boat. A flash of panic shot through the already terrified merman as he felt that pain in his fins again, and he clutched as close to the net as he could get, trying to avoid further damage. 

When that small, yet surprisingly strong fisherman finally drew the net aboard, Sherlock took a deep breath and tried to stay as still as he could despite the fish flopping and wriggling beneath him. His hands were pinned behind him, so he couldn't move the netting out of his face or off of his torso. To the man that owned the boat, he probably looked like some strange, huge, and very out of place fish in his net. That was what he was hoping, at least. 

When the short man did start to move about and pick out the fish that were too big for his taste, and the ones that were too small to be legal. When he got to looking at Sherlock's large and damaged tail tail, he all but froze, his icy blue eyes going as wide as saucers. Sherlock himself knew he must look huge to the small man, the twelve feet from the tip of his tail to the top of his head dwarfing the other's much smaller height. 

The man eventually got around to pulling some the netting away from him, Sherlock gave a fake little smile in hopes of seeming kind. The merman was already stuck in a horrible situation, he just wanted to seem docile to the man to prevent being killed or left in the net. The one outcome he didn't expect was the small man to give a sigh and sit on a large orange bucket and scrub a hand through his short graying-blond hair before muttering a small, "Why the fuck does this always happen to me?"


	2. Oh Johnny boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of our wonderful tale told from the view of our wonderful fisherman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't been around! Life's crazy, but I found an off day to do this for you guys.

John had decided on becoming a fisherman a long while back, when he had returned from Afghanistan and gotten out of the Army due to disability. It was a simple life he had settled into, and a simple life he was happy with. Wake up before the sun, get the boat situated, cast the nets, check the traps, go and check the market, pull the nets, drop the fish off at the market, head home, shower, eat, watch telly, sleep, and repeat the next day. 

He always used the netting that was thin enough for the small fish to swim through and the big fish to break out of, until the department changed the laws. He had to use netting that met the requirements of the department, which meant regulation netting. It was much thicker and much more course than John would have liked to be using in the channel, but he had to use it to abide by the laws and not be arrested by Fish and Wildlife. 

\------

It had been a bad idea from the start, throwing the heavy netting over the port side of the ship and being splashed in the face by the frigid morning waters. He ran a towel over his face and shook his head, setting up the buoys to keep the net afloat and catching things. John started the ship up and went looking around, checking all of his traps for any bottom-feeding life that he could catch. The day went by slowly, checking the market's price for fish and selling the last of yesterday's catch to the places that used the dead fish for feeding animals and such. When he returned to the nets, he knew very well they would be heavy. He started with the first one he cast, pulling it up with some help of the small crane he had been able to get on his ship. Large fish, small fish, and a lone octopus. He gave a frown and tossed everything back he couldn't use or sell, putting everything else into a large cooler on deck. 

Time came for John to check the second net he had thrown out, and he knew something was wrong when he touched it - it was heavier than the last had been, and that was full to the brim with fish. There had to be something big in this one. He pulled it up on deck and didn't see anything out of the ordinary at first, and began tossing back the fish too big and too small, and gently setting the ones he could use in the cooler with the other fish. The hint of a purple fin came into view, and he blinked slowly, stepping up close to the net again. Nothing in these waters was supposed to have the violent purple that that creature did, nor be as big. He was wary as he moved a few large fish from the tail, and gasped when he saw the midnight scales give way to flawless alabaster skin, a long muscled torso and a strangely pretty face. 

John had to have hit the whiskey too hard last night - he had to be drunk, or high, or hallucinating. There was no way there was a merman in his net, on the deck of his boat. He shook his head and moved, getting out a knife and giggling slightly. He was hallucinating. The net around the creature's hands, fins, and torso was soon cut free, and John stepped back and looked at the large creature. When it moved and smiled at him, his eyes went wide and his face drained a little of that natural pinkish glow; this was actually happening, he wasn't just imagining things. 

The normal reaction would have probably been to scream and freak out, but John had been in the military too long to react like that. Too many fucked up and bat-shit crazy things had happened to him for him to react like that. Instead, he shook his head slightly and sat down on a large five gallon bucket, a hand going to his graying hair, and he muttered a gruff, "Why the fuck does this always happen to me?"

He looked up a few moments later after collecting himself to find the man/fish/thing staring at him with grey eyes that were the color of snow clouds, and he felt his heart stutter for a moment. It was a fish, John! A very attractive fish with a man's torso and face, but a fish. He moved, blinking when he noticed the small trickle of crimson coming from one of the fins on his hips. John moved forwards with his hands out and palms up, so the creature would know he meant no harm. He gave a soft and worried sigh when he noticed the netting had cut the side of his fin where one of the thin cartilage pieces held it up, and moved to press a cloth to the wound. 

Of course he jumped when the thing hissed at him, and he shook his head and set a soothing hand to its tail, hoping it would comfort the creature in some way. The merman did relax, if only slightly, and spread his fins so this strange man would have an easier time tending to the wounds. John smiled softly and dabbed at the wound until the bleeding stopped, happy with how small the injury seemed to be. Things were still pretty fucking weird, but that couldn't get too much weirder, right?

Wrong. He heard a low, gravelly voice in the richest baritone that could have possibly come out of someone, start to speak, and he stared at the creature with eyes as big as a dinner plate when it managed to give him a small, "Thank you."


	3. What even are legs

As soon as Sherlock spoke, he knew it had been a bad idea. He hadn't meant to reveal the secret he had so desperately been trying to keep for most of his lips, it had just... slipped. His whole life he had hidden how easily he picked up human language, the way their throats moved and the air moved in their mouths and how they shifted their lips to make the sounds they do, and how they understood each other. 

But it had all slipped out in a second of lapse judgement when he had been thanking a man for pulling him out of a net. It wasn't as bad as it could have been - it was thanking the man that saved him and kept his fins from being ripped and torn and irreparable. His brilliantly bright violet fins that had gotten him shunned to begin with. 

John, when he looked down at the other, was stunned. The merman seemed to be shocked and a little ashamed that he had spoken. And it hit him, then. That he was seemingly reading emotions off of a god damn fish's weirdly human face. He must have been hallucinating. Jesus Christ, why the hell was he acting like this was real? A hoarse chuckle escaped his throat, and he shook his head. "There's no way this is real. No way you're real. You're just a hallucination, right?"

Sherlock tilted his head slightly when he heard the man begin to speak again. Asking him if he was a 'hallucination'. He hadn't encountered that word before, and paused to try and fit it into context. He had heard the word Hallucinating, but not hallucination. Maybe it was a version of the same word? Sherlock had learned by ear, so he had never had a formal way of sitting and learning the English language. He moved slightly and shook his head, how he had seen the man shake his head a moment before.

"I am not a... hallucination. If I have the meaning of the word right, I am not one," he explained softly, "I am very real."

John closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a long sigh through his nose. He shook his head and chuckled briefly before looking up at the other, his eyes looking years older than they had a moment before. "Right. You can talk. How can you talk?"

"Just the same as you," Sherlock replied easily, "I have lungs. I breathe air, like you. So it's just how you speak. Only my second manner of speaking. Language, that's the word." 

The fisherman could only nod in response to the merman's speech. He sounded like... a normal man. Like someone that had been speaking English all their life. A thought popped to the front of his mind, and he felt like an idiot for not asking earlier. "Do you have a name? Anything I can call you?"

The question made Sherlock pause. He had not been asked his name by an English speaking man before. He nodded gently and furrowed his brow, trying to figure out how to explain his name to the human man. "My title would not translate easily to English. But I believe it would be something like... Sherlock," he nodded, looking at the other for approval. He shifted slightly and rolled, his tail flopping onto the wet deck of the ship, reminding him of his stranded position. 

It was embarrassing, the way he felt so vulnerable laid out on the white deck of the ship, wet and warm from the sun. His tail was solid muscle, and even though Sherlock knew the power the appendage held, he felt vulnerable compared to the other man, who was very obviously able to get up and walk around with ease. 

John watched the merman - Sherlock - roll onto his stomach, and smiled faintly. "Right. I'm John. John Watson, but you can just call me John," he nodded, his hands waving this way and that with his embarrassment around the other. He seemed intelligent, and even though John was not a stupid man by far, he felt like the other could easily outwit him. 

Sherlock nodded with the new information, and moved to let out a soft breath before trying out the new name on his tongue. "John. John Watson. It is a nice name, it feels good to say," he nodded gently, looking up at the other. 

John nodded, looking down at the merman. And the second he caught the stare of the other, the world seemed to slow down. The fish flopping on the deck that he hadn't caught, the few crabs scuttling free of the net; they suddenly didn't matter. All that mattered was the gorgeous eyes belonging to the other.

The blue and green and grey that swirled together and looked like the pictures of nebulae and stars that he had seen. But then the notes of gold and purple and brown were added in, and it suddenly reminded him of the deep sea just after a storm, how everything seemed to settle and the air was fresh and clear again. It could have been minuted, and it could have been hours, but John finally blinked and managed to draw his gaze from the other's eyes, blushing faintly and looking down at his hands. 

Sherlock had been caught in the stare, looking quizzically up at the small man. He had seemed enthralled in the gaze, and Sherlock smiled when he noticed the faint speckling of a rosy pink on the paler flesh of his throat. It was... endearing. Sherlock could have looked at the other man for a long time and still find something new with each passing minute. And the ocean seemed far, far less appealing. 

The thought of the ocean made him pause and look down at his tail, that had been rapidly drying in the rare sunny weather in this area of the sea, and he shifted uncomfortably on himself, glad for the damp deck of the ship. He had never been dry before, but he had heard tales of what happened to his kind when they dried out. Some said they died, some said they got legs, and some said they turned to dust. Sherlock thought the last option was a bit silly, but the other two, he didn't doubt. The part of himself that had gotten his ban from the pod ached to find out, but the part of him that knew it could kill him wanted him to slip back just a bit and dip his fluke in the water once more to prevent it from happening. 

John noticed the turmoil on the merman's face and looked down at him, moving to stand up from where he had seated himself on the five gallon bucket once more and moved to sit a little closer to where Sherlock was laying on the deck. His rubber coveralls kept his clothes from getting too wet when he sat down on the slick deck, and he shifted and looked at the other. 

"Do you... do you want to go back? Into the water?" John asked after a moment, a little pit settling in his stomach. He didn't want to see the gorgeous creature leave, but he couldn't keep him, could he? It had to violate some ethics code, but he couldn't exactly consult a guide for 'what to do when you accidentally catch an English-speaking merman'. It probably didn't exist, but he wouldn't doubt it. 

Sherlock paused for a moment and shook his head after deliberation, biting at his bottom lip before looking up and meeting John's eyes once more. He managed a weak smile, "I want to stay. If I am allowed to try out, one of two things will happen. My tail will dry, and I will either get legs like you have, or I will... not survive a greater length of time."

John looked alarmed at the idea and moved back slightly, "Well we don't want you to die, oh my God! You should get back in the water to make sure you don't risk anything."

Sherlock shook his head, "I have no pod to welcome me home. I live alone. I want to see if I could live with people on land, or if it would kill me."

That made the fisherman's nose crinkle, but he nodded after a moment. "Right. So... do you want to move somewhere dry, to make it easier? Or get a towel to help you dry off a little more, then?"

Sherlock paused and nodded gently, "Could I move somewhere dry and get a towel? It would be appreciated."

John nodded and walked to the cabin to show him the way, laying down towels. He winced as he noticed Sherlock dragging his heavy tail across the deck, but didn't dare offer to help. It might be taboo with the other's culture. And he didn't want to make the other feel awkward or weird or out of place. He smiled and helped Sherlock in and nodded, closing the door with a smile before gesturing to the nets. He needed to set them again. 

When he went back to the cabin a few minutes later, he was surprised to say the least. Sherlock was there, but with long pale legs and very obvious male bits between them. He blushed and stepped inside, grabbing a pair of his trousers he knew wouldn't fit the other, but he gave them anyway. 

Sherlock accepted them with a soft 'thank you' and moved to pull them on, unsure of how to use them so far. After he had managed to get the trousers on, he shifted and looked at the other and moved to look up at the other, "I don't have experience with legs. How do they work?"


End file.
